Freedom to the Oppressed
by Taliesin Stormlaw
Summary: Young Harry is saved from Uncle Vernon's beatings by a slightly vengeful House Elf, and taken to Hogwarts. Rating for limited violence. Eventual D/H Slash
1. Chapter 1

**Freedom to the Oppressed**

**Disclaimer:**I do not own the Harry Potter stories, its plot, characters, places, or any recognisable features in this story. Only unrecognisable plot features and characters are (hopefully) mine. This is written purely for entertainment purposes, and I am not benefiting financially from it.

_**Initial inspiration from 'Snape's Invisible Friend' by Teacherbev, an essay by MamaDeb, and various comments on said essay – here is the link: http:/ mamadeb . livejournal . com/350871. html . (FF .netised, so you'll have to remove the spaces).**_

Vernon Dursley of Number 4, Privet Drive, was drowning his sorrows in a number of pints of larger. He grumbled furiously under his breath as he gradually got drunker. How dare they fire him? How _dare_they! He decided it must be that _boy__'__s_ fault. How could it have been his own, after all? It must be all the time and effort that they had to spend looking after that brat. He slammed his pint glass onto the bar, and stormed off home, pausing only to pay for his tab.

xxx

Little Harry Potter was lying wide awake in his cupboard, nursing his bruised head. It was a mid August night, and was terribly hot. He wasn't _entirely_sure why Uncle Vernon had hit him with the saucepan, but he had, and it really, really hurt now. Harry had wanted to cry and cuddle up in his mummy's arms, like Dudley would do if he was hurt, but Harry had no mummy – he was, you see, and orphan. He wanted someone to kiss it better, but he knew that this would never happen to him. He reached for the edge of his old, holey blanket and squished it between his fingers, something which comforted him, as he struggled not to cry.

xxx

Vernon lay in bed, feeling very satisfied with himself. He had punished the freak for making him lose his job, and punished him well. He'd not be forgetting that blow for some time, he thought. He grinned over at his wife, Petunia, who sat next to him in bed, reading. She returned his grin with a slight grimace, before returning to her book. But then it occurred to Vernon that eventually the pain would fade. Vernon's beer soaked brain turned over sluggishly, gradually making its alcohol-twisted way to a horrid conclusion. The freak would be painless, and Vernon would still be jobless. Well, he'd have to do something about that!

xxx

Harry sat bolt upright in his makeshift bed when he heard something heavy thumping its way down the stairs. The cupboard door swung violently open, and Uncle Vernon, dressed in naught but boxer shorts and a pyjama top, reached a meaty hand in, grabbing Harry by the scruff of the neck. He threw the four year old bodily against the wall, Harry's head snapping backwards, making contact with the edge of the radiator with a sickening crack. Harry landed on the floor with a tiny thump, not being that heavy, and automatically curled into a foetal ball. He shuddered and shivered against the floor as his uncle pulled him up by his hair. Vernon breathed heavily, rancid, alcoholic breath wafting over Harry, and drew is thick fist back.

"No...please," Harry whimpered. Uncle Vernon just laughed. "Help me!" Harry sobbed. He waited for the inevitable blow, but before it did, a loud cracking sound rent the hallway. Harry realised it wasn't his uncle's fist connecting with his head, and opened his eyes as the man released his hair.

"Argh! No! What is that thing?" Uncle Vernon stumbled backwards, his arms flailing. Harry turned his head, and saw, standing in the doorway to the kitchen, what looked like a very small person. It was very thin, and had a big head and long white hair with huge bat-like ears, and big, green eyes to match. Its nose was long, thin and rather pointy, and its mouth was set grimly. It had a white tea-towel wrapped around its narrow frame, and was glaring at Uncle Vernon with something akin to murderous hatred.

It spoke then, with a curiously high pitched and sing-song voice, but one which was overlaid with hostile tones.

"You shall not harm Harry Potter!" It drew back a bony fist, which it clawed, and thrust forward at Uncle Vernon. Another resounding crack echoed through the house, and the large man was hurled backwards alarmingly, colliding with the front door and crumpling to the ground. The small person pulled a triumphant face, and then turned to Harry, its face becoming tender. "Harry Potter, sir," it said, as it held out a hand not much larger than Harry's. "I is Oree. You must come with me." Harry didn't hesitate, and grabbed hold of the little person's hand. He was sure it was safe – the little person had, after all, saved him from Uncle Vernon.

Petunia was dashing down the stairs, gazing hysterically down at the scene which presented itself to her. She gasped as she saw the creature standing in her hallway.

"No…" she breathed, as Harry reached out to it, but not in time. As soon as the long, thin fingers closed around Harry's small hand they vanished with a crack.

For Harry, the hallway disappeared, almost like dust being blown away by a strong wind. It reformed almost instantaneously into a high-ceilinged stone chamber, lit dimly by torches set into brackets on the wall. There were gleaming brass pots and pans stacked high around the walls, and many shining implements hung from hooks, and rested on counters. Four long bare wooden tables stood in a row in the centre of the room, and at the far end was a huge fireplace, in which a rather subdued fire crackled. Herbs and spices were piled in wooden barrels, emitting a pleasant scent, and others hung in bunches from racks around the fireplace. There were many more of the little people standing in the chamber, all wearing tea towels wrapped around themselves like the togas Harry had seen in Dudley's discarded history picture books. When the little people saw Harry and Oree, they clustered around hurriedly, and all began to talk at once, in their strange little voices. A few of them were quite a bit deeper than Oree's, so Harry, with impeccable four year old logic, concluded that Oree must be a lady little person.

"Oree is returned!" One said, its bulbous nose quivering.

"With little Harry Potter," cried another.

"An honour, a great honour…" This one was shaking its head, bat like ears flapping wildly.

The sudden loud noise startled Harry. He began to shiver, and his head throbbed where he had collided with the wall. A little sob escaped him, accompanied by a tiny tear that slid down his cheek.

Oree did a funny little jump, and waved her long hands at the crowd. They quietened down quickly, looking a little sheepish.

"Where is Fenodery? Oree needs to speak with him!" She spoke with a firmness in her voice, but the crowd began to murmur again. Someone at the back said something in a louder voice, and a brief ripple went the crowd. Their ranks parted and a little person, hunched over with age, and completely bald, appeared. He too wore the tea-towel-toga that the others wore, but his was not plain white – it had a hem stitched with blue thread. He bowed low in front of Harry, his ears flopping forward to the floor, before speaking.

"Welcome Harry Potter, sir." His voice was deep and resonant, surprisingly so for someone so small. He turned to the little person who had rescued Harry. "You is doing well, Oree," he said.

Oree's face was grave and serious as she answered the little old man. "Oree is finding Harry Potter in the home of the Muggles when Harry Potter is calling for help. They is not being good people. They is hurting Harry Potter." Her voice rose in volume as she spoke, and she shook her head violently. The faces of the watchers in the crowd widened with shock, and some even began to cry softly. "Oree was wanting very much to hurt those bad Muggles," this was quite vehemently cried, her tiny body shaking with fury, "but she's following Fenodery's orders and leaves with Harry Potter. Oree saw what they did, and she thinks that Harry Potter is needing healing magics soon!" Fenodery's large eyes widened. He put his hand to Harry's head, and it came away slick with blood.

"Come quickly!" He said urgently. He tugged both Harry and Oree towards the back of the huge room, the crowd parting around them, their little faces taught with worry. Fenodery led the way through a small archway next to the massive fireplace, into a small room with only a table and four tiny chairs. A small door led off the room, through which Oree bustled. Fenodery pushed Harry into one of the small chairs, obviously meant for those of their size, although he was small enough for it. His head was pounding, and he could feel blood dripping through his hair.

"Come, Oree, quickly!" Fenodery cried. Oree barged through the door carrying an armful of bandages. She dropped them onto the table, and she and Fenodery spread their long, thin fingers over Harry's head. The closed their huge eyes, and hummed a low note very softly. The pain lessened, and Harry experienced an odd tingling, as the blood dried and his scalp closed. Oree sprang back to the table for the bandages, which she expertly wrapped around Harry's head. "That's it now, Harry. Oree and Fenodery makes it all better." Harry nodded at her with wide eyes.

"What…How…My head…?" Harry stuttered.

A grave look came upon Fenodery's face. "He does not know," he muttered. "Fenodery and Oree must tell him."

"Tell me what?"Demanded Harry in an indignant four year old voice.

"Fenodery and Oree are using magic to heal Harry Potter," said Oree. "We is House Elves, Harry Potter, and you are a wizard."

"Like in Dudley's books? Like Arthur and Merlin and the Round Table?" If possible, Harry's eyes opened even wider. Oree looked confused, but Fenodery nodded.

"Yes, Harry Potter. We is doing magic, and you will learn too."

"You must stay here with us," said Oree, "where it is safe from your nasty relatives."

With a small cry, Harry launched himself at Oree, and hugged her with all his might (which, at his age, wasn't that much).

"Oh, thank you!" he said over and over. He hugged Fenodery too, before asking them "Where is here? Where are we?"

"This is Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Harry Potter." Fenodery said proudly. "You is to come here to learn wizard's magic when you has eleven years." Harry nodded, and Oree spoke.

"But for now, you is to live here with the House Elves. Oree will look after you. In a few weeks, many young wizards will come here to learn. So Oree and Fenodery, and the other house elves, they will teach you to how to avoid them, and not be seen."

Harry grinned – it was like a new game!

xxx

Petunia crouched over her husband, cautiously checking for injuries. Gradually, he stirred to alertness.

"Vernon?" Petunia called. "Vernon, wake up."

"The freak…" hissed Vernon groggily. "What did that freak do?"

"It wasn't him, Vernon," said Petunia anxiously. "There was something else here too."

Vernon seemed to ponder this for a long time, still drink-addled. Then his mouth stretched into a horrid grin.

"He's off our hands. Nothing we could do to save him. Nothing we can do now." He became more and more gleeful with each statement.

"But…" Petunia paused briefly, then ploughed on, knowing she was going to regret it. "Shouldn't we write to… one of them… That Dumbledore man, maybe. They could find him."

Vernon's glee vanished, replaced by purple-faced fury.

"_What?_" He sat up slowly, glaring daggers at his wife. "We will _not_ be writing to those _freaks_!"

"But…" Petunia was cut off by a sharp slap to her cheek. He reached for her with his thick hand, wrapping his fingers tightly around the back of her neck.

"_That__is__the__last__time__we__'__ll__see__that__boy,__" _he spat. "Am I _clear_?" He tightened his grip sharply on the last word. "Otherwise," he continued. "You are aware of the consequences." He glanced up the stairs.

Petunia nodded, terrified. What else could she have done?

xxx

Harry yawned hugely. It was very late, and he'd been through a lot.

"Now, Harry Potter," piped the old House Elf, Fenodery, "Oree and Fenodery will take you to your place to sleep." They led him out of the small chamber and back into the kitchen. The other House Elves had returned to work, but they looked up from their washing or sewing, or whatever they happened to be doing, when the small group entered. They all gathered around again, more cautiously this time. One, a young-looking and sprightly male with particularly striking blue eyes, stepped forward.  
>"Is Harry Potter all right now?"<p>

"This is Fenodery's son, Witty," said the old House Elf, gesturing at the younger Elf.

"I'm better, thank you Witty," answered Harry, surprisingly maturely.

"Fenodery and Oree are taking him to the dormitory," injected Oree. "He is needing some rest. Everyone may meet him, if he is wishing, but once he has slept."

The two Elves led the little boy across the kitchen and through an archway that Harry hadn't previously noticed. Behind lay a long stone corridor with a vaulted roof like a smaller version of the kitchen's, lit brightly by firelight, with doors leading off at regular intervals. The first one was open, and through this one Oree led Harry, Fenodery remaining outside.

"This can be your bedroom, Harry, for the moment." She gestured around, and Harry had a good look. The room wasn't large, but neither was it a cupboard. A small, perfectly sized bed with plain white sheets stood against the back wall, next to a proportionately-sized bed side table. Harry frowned in confusion.

"This isn't a cupboard," he said.

"Of course not," answered Oree, becoming slightly worried. "Why would Oree give you a cupboard to sleep in?"

"Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia gave me a cupboard," said Harry, matter-of-factly. "People like me sleep in cupboards, they said."

Oree cried out in anger, startling Harry. She stormed out of the room, determined to exact her revenge on those awful people. Fenodery caught her before she could transport herself away, however, and spoke to her quietly, before gesturing back at Harry. The little boy was sitting on the edge of the bed, quietly crying.

Oree gasped, and rushed back in, kneeling before Harry and putting a small hand up to his cheek.

"Don't cry, Harry!" She sat next to him and brought him into a hug. "Oree is not cross with you. She is cross with those people who are supposed to be Harry potter's family. You never have to go back to them, Harry, and you _do_ get to sleep in a proper bedroom!" Harry looked up, sniffed, then nodded. Oree stood up and pulled back the sheet of the little bed, and clicked her fingers. Harry was lifted into the air, gasping and giggling, sorrow forgotten, as Oree placed him between the sheets. His fingers went straight for the hem of the blanket, squishing it between his fingers. When he was settled in, she smiled tenderly at him.

"Good night, Harry Potter," she said.

**AN: I hope you like the beginnings of this story. Shall I continue to update it? I know I have unfinished stories, but writing stories actually helps me think of ideas for other ones. Paradoxical, I know.**

**Anyway, reviews are always appreciated.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Freedom to the Oppressed**

**Disclaimer:**See Chapter 1

* * *

><p>Harry was woken early the next morning by hordes of tiny feet pattering along the corridor outside his room. This was soon followed by scraping and clanging sounds from the kitchen beyond, as well as mysterious little popping noises. Harry stretched his small body, yawning hugely. He hadn't had enough sleep, but was nevertheless determined to get up, incorrigible little boy that he was.<p>

He sat up in bed, rubbing his tired eyes with the heels of his hands, and looked around the small room that he'd been given to sleep in. To him, having slept in a cupboard for every night that he could remember, it was like a palace. He swung his legs out from under the soft sheet; he was pleasantly surprised when his legs touched the floor. The bed was made for House Elves – and Harry was precisely the size of an average sized Elf.

A knock sounded faintly against the wooden door. Harry glanced up, calling 'hello' in a tired little voice. The heavy door swung open, revealing a short, slightly plump House Elf with dark hair tired back in a bun, carrying a tiny bundle in the crook of each elbow. When one of them squirmed and mewled quietly, Harry realised that they were babies.

"Good morning, Harry Potter. I is Dinky," she said, shifting one of the infants slightly. "These is Ducky and Tucky," she said, lifting each baby in turn. "I is hoping that you is all better now, and you is sleeping well."

"Yes, thank you, and you?" Harry's manners had to be impeccable. If they hadn't been, Uncle Vernon would have hit him.

"I's sleeping very well, thank you Harry Potter." She smiled warmly at him. "Well," she continued, "I will be getting Oree now, to tell her that you has awoken." She gave a little bob of her head, and turned into the corridor. She walked briskly away, expertly balancing her babies.

It wasn't long before Harry heard a light popping sound from outside his bedroom. Oree bustled in, again wearing her tea-towel toga, but also with one half of an oven mitt tied around her waist like an apron.

"Ah!" she exclaimed, gathering Harry into a hug. "You is awake! Oree is most pleased."

"Good morning, Oree," said Harry, struggling to maintain his politeness in the face of Oree's boundless enthusiasm.

"And to you, Harry!" Oree beamed. "There is much that Oree and Harry Potter need to be doing today." She seemed very excited about the prospect. She glanced at the pyjamas that Harry was wearing – the clothes she had found him in. "First things is first," she said, "you is needing some clothes."

Deftly untying her apron and setting it down on Harry's bedside table, she set about pulling several objects from a pocket sewn onto her toga. The first was a measuring tape, with which she began to measure Harry's height, the length of his legs and arms, and around his waist (she tutted at this; something about needing to feed him up) and noting down the measurements with a pencil she'd pulled from her pocket. The paper she used was unusual, nothing like Harry had seen at the Dursleys. It was all crinkly and yellowy.

"Right," she huffed, apparently finished. "Oree will quickly make something for Harry to wear today, until she can make some more. Wait here, Harry," she continued, "get some more sleep maybe. You is still tired. Oree will be back with some new clothes." She shuddered slightly as she said this, which Harry didn't really understand, but he decided that it didn't matter, and he lay back down to sleep as Oree sprinted headlong out of his room and down the corridor.

Harry followed Oree around for the rest of the day. The clothes she had made for him consisted of a loose fitting pair of cotton trousers and a slightly too big light shirt made from a similar material which slipped easily over his head. She also added a pair of soft slippers, which Harry delighted in pulling on and off over and over again. The new clothes weren't too dissimilar from pyjamas, but Harry didn't care. He loved them – they were better than anything he'd ever been given at the Dursleys. Oree took the Dursley pyjamas from him once he'd changed, and wrinkled her nose in distaste, before carrying them away, delicately holding them between finger and thumb as far from her body as possible. For the rest of the day, Oree gave Harry a tour. First she showed him around the kitchen, which he hadn't had time to properly see the night before. As well as the tables and piles of pots in the main central room, there were many alcoves, some very large, leading off, containing all manner of things. One was almost unbearably hot, and housed a gigantic bread oven. Oree introduced a kind-looking House Elf called Bastey to Harry, saying she was in charge of baking all the bread. Another alcove was lit only dimly, and was filled with odours both sweet and pungent. Piles upon piles of green herbs filled this alcove – on shelves, in barrels, and hanging from racks. Next she showed Harry around the scullery, which housed one huge porcelain sink, set into the centre of the stone floor. Golden dishes so clean they sparkled were stacked on shelves around the edge, in piles teetering upwards towards the ceiling. She also showed Harry the little office at the back of the kitchen, in which Fenodery was carefully writing something in an ancient-looking tome that was bigger than he was. Oree explained to Harry that Fenodery was in charge of all the House Elves of Hogwarts, and he had to keep careful records of all that happened.

Harry was most excited, however, when Oree led him out of the House Elves' domain and into the main body of the school. She led him up a narrow winding staircase beside Fenodery's office, which opened up into a small, wood panelled room. A deep red carpet covered the floor, and was so thick that it seemed to come up to Harry's ankles. A slight clicking noise sounded, and Harry turned around to see Oree pulling a painting across the entrance to the staircase they'd used. Harry was about to ask why she'd done that, but then he noticed something rather odd. The man depicted in the portrait was fast asleep, but Harry could clearly see his chest moving up and down, and his thick moustache rustling as he breathed.

"It's _moving_!" exclaimed Harry. Oree shushed him, and nodded.

"Magic is doing things like that, Harry," she responded quietly. "We must be keeping you hidden though – so you must be quiet. Oree will make you unseen with her, until you is able to do it yourself." She held out her hand. Harry grasped it tightly with his small fingers, and as he did so a tingle went up his spine and his hair stood on end. Oree's long white hair also floated slightly, as if in a stiff breeze. Beyond that, he didn't feel any different, and looking down he didn't look any different, but he somehow knew that he could be right under Uncle Vernon's nose right now and stick out his tongue, and his uncle would have had no idea.

Oree approached a door at the other end of the room, still holding onto Harry's hand, and cautiously pushed it open.

Seeing that the coast was clear, she pushed it wide open, and led the way through.

Harry's jaw dropped in awe at the sight that greeted him. Thousands of candles floated above great wooden tables, far below a ceiling that seemed to Harry too high to be possible. Blue sky shined down illogically from the ceiling, fluffy white clouds meandering their way across. Brilliantly coloured banners hung on the walls, and the massive doors at the far end seemed to glow in the light streaming from the ceiling.

Oree turned to Harry, grinning in amusement at the expression on his face.

"Welcome to Hogwarts, Harry."

xxx

Professor Dumbledore sat in his office, fingers steepled, behind his grand oak desk. He ran a finger down the list of students attending Hogwarts that year. Nothing caught his attention as out of the ordinary. He smiled slightly, reaching down to pull up his bright yellow and blue striped socks, which had slipped slightly too far down his ankles.

An awful racket suddenly flooded the room. Albus righted himself hurriedly, narrowly avoiding whacking his head on the edge of the wooden desk. He stood, racing around the desk in a swirling flurry of purple robes, then lowered himself in front of the perpetrator of the noise. A small silver instrument, shaped like a tiny trumpet on wheels and sounding like a foghorn, was rattling around on top of its spindly wooden table blaring with all its might. This little device was connected to the enchantments woven about the Dursley home, and indicated any life-threatening suffering of the inhabitants. Dumbledore jumped to his feet, bellying the infirmity of age, and dashed over to the fireplace. He grabbed a small snuff box off the mantelpiece, popping it open and tipping floo powder into his palm. He cast the powder onto the embers, which glowed green and flashed into life.

"The Three Broomsticks," he stated clearly, stepping into the flames. It was, you see, the fastest way out of the castle grounds, and therefore the fastest way to leave the Anti-Apparition Jinx. As soon as he stepped out of the public hearth at the pub, he Disaparated, ignoring the surprised looks of the pub's patrons.

He reappeared with a very slight pop on Privet Drive. Immediately he recognised the problem registered by his instrument. Smoke billowed endlessly from the open windows of Number 4, standing glaringly out of place among the neatly tended hedges and lawns. Crowds of Muggles, mostly elderly, huddled outside the building, clustered around something on the pavement in front of the burning house. Dumbledore, thinking quickly, transfigured his clothes into the uniform of the Muggle fire brigade, Disillusioned his beard, and approached the scene before him, after transfiguring a nearby car into a fire engine. He called as he drew near.

"Stand back everyone, please!" The crowd looked up unanimously, grudgingly moving away from the object lying on the pavement. Taking care to obscure the fact that he was definitely much too old to be a fireman, Dumbledore crouched over the body of Vernon Dursley, sprawled on its face at the end of the garden path. Very much dead. A deep curse wound ran down the centre of his back, raw and weeping blood. Parts of his spinal column were visible, and they looked severely damaged. Vernon Dursley had suffered terribly as he died.

A shout, a man's voice raised in anger, sounded from inside, reminding Albus of the other Dursleys. He jogged into the building, through a door which had been blasted inwards off its hinges. A Revealing Charm alerted him to three presences within the house. A whimper sounded from upstairs. Albus followed it blindly, his vision obscured by smoke. The walls were burning; great pillars of flame eating upwards. Albus immediately attacked them with water from his wand as he passed. Low talking could be heard as he reached the landing, just about audible over the roar of flames. One door at the end of the landing was pulled tightly shut, the only one not burning. Albus held his wand up in front of himself, breathing deeply, and blasted the door to pieces. Immediately he took in the scene which presented itself to him.

A dark-robed man stood in the centre of the room, masked and with wand drawn. Kneeling in the corner, on the other side of a double bed, was Petunia Dursley, bravely shielding her young son. She crouched in front of him; arms stretched backwards, wrapping protectively around him.

"What is this?" Hissed the figure in a cultured voice as Dumbledore stepped into the room. He whirled around, lips beneath his mask already forming the deadly incantation, but Dumbledore was too quick. He hit him with a non-verbal Stunning Spell so powerful that the figure was knocked backwards off his feet, lading spread-eagled on the bed. His mask slipped off, revealing the haughty face of Lucius Malfoy.

"Wh- who are you?" asked Petunia in a quavering voice. In reply, Dumbledore removed the Disillusionment Charm from his beard and returned his clothes to their original state, and Petunia's eyes widened in recognition.

"Th- thank you for saving us, Professor Dumbledore," she said, seeming to allow him some grudging respect.

"Let's go outside, before the building collapses," said Albus firmly. He followed them from the room as they staggered out. He cast a general repelling charm on the crowd that stood outside from the landing window, and they began to disperse quietly, all simultaneously remembering that they had left their ovens on and didn't want their houses to burn down too.

As Petunia and Dudley stumbled gasping into the fresh air, Albus set about putting out the remainder of the fires. It was easily done. Non-enchanted fire could not repel even the weakest of Quenching Charms. When Albus turned back, both Petunia and Dudley were sitting quietly beside Vernon's dead body, Dudley ensconced in Petunia's arms. Unreadable emotions crossed her face as she stared down at his corpse.

Albus cleared his throat.

"I'm terribly sorry, but I must interrupt. I have important questions."

Petunia said nothing, so Albus continued.

"What did the man want?"

"H- he asked where Harry was," she choked out. Then both she and Dumbledore started when a loud siren rent the quiet air. A fire engine turned into the street, and began to slow down in front of the wreck of the Dursley's house. But it soon sped up again, as Dumbledore's Muggle Repelling Charm took effect.

"And where is Harry?" the old wizard pressed, turning back to Petunia.

At this Petunia let out a sob. "I don't know," she whispered. "He disappeared a few days ago." Her voice rose slightly. "I wanted to write to you to ask for help, but Vernon f- forbade it. He said he'd h- hurt D-Dudley." She began to cry silently. "I did care about Harry. But Vernon hated him. He m- made me give him chores. He h- hit him. He threatened to take D- Dudley away if I didn't let him." Petunia sounded like she was pouring out her soul to Dumbledore after years of suffering in silence. Which, he realised, she probably was.

"There was s- something," she continued. "Like a little person. I think it took Harry away."

"Very well. Thank you Petunia." Dumbledore's mind was in turmoil, but he put up a calm front for Petunia's benefit. "I must contact the Ministry of Magic to get your assailant apprehended, and to place enchantments for your protection. After, I shall help you repair your home." And after that, he wordlessly added, I'll search frantically for Harry. And try to work out how on Earth all of this happened. Although, he wryly admitted to himself, he thought he knew exactly where Harry was.

xxx

Narcissa Malfoy glanced up in anxious alarm from her book as a sharp sound echoed across the silent library. On the small marble-topped table beside her, her wedding ring was rattling violently. She'd taken it off, glad of the respite from its cloying closeness, as she always did when her husband was away.

But now she touched it willingly, allowing the charms imbued within it to take her as she closed her eyes.

A grainy image filled her mental vision. A man she knew immediately as her husband was facing an unfamiliar old man wearing Muggle clothing across a burning room. She had a brief moment to muse on how useful Lucius' trick to keep tabs on her had turned out to be. He hadn't reckoned on her being powerful enough to replicate and reverse his enchantment.

She saw her husband begin to say a spell, but the stranger was quicker. Lucius flew across the room, landing limply and collapsing. But she knew he wasn't dead, as her vision continued. The stranger waved his wand over himself, revealing who he truly was. She was very surprised when she saw it was Albus Dumbledore, complete with unruffled beard and carefully placed half-moon spectacles. She smiled weakly, and withdrew from the vision.

"Mummy?" a quiet voice asked. Looking down, Narcissa saw her young son gazing up at her worriedly. "What's the matter?"

Narcissa realised then that tears of joy were streaming down her cheeks. Reaching down, she picked up the small boy and hugged him close to her.

"Nothing, my darling." Her tears flowed faster, as she began to smile. "My darling Draco, we are free, you and I!"

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><p><strong>AN: Hope you enjoyed this chapter :) Please review…<strong>


	3. Chapter 3

**Freedom to the Oppressed**

**Disclaimer: **See Chapter 1

"Fenodery!" Dumbledore snapped anxiously as soon as he reappeared in his office.

The elderly House Elf immediately appeared with a loud _crack_, before bowing low to the venerable Headmaster. Dumbledore bowed in return, having never been able to get Fenodery not to do it himself.

"The Headmaster has called?" asked Fenodery, straightening slowly, as if it caused him pain.

"Yes Fenodery," replied Dumbledore, settling himself in an armchair, and conjuring one for Fenodery, which he declined. "A matter of great urgency has come to my attention. Have you any idea of the whereabouts of one Harry Potter?" He looked over his half-moon glasses at the Elf. Fenodery shifted uncomfortably, doing an excellent impression of a naughty student, despite his greatly advanced age.

"Err, well, yes, you is seeing, Professor Dumbledore," mumbled Fenodery, before gaining confidence, "Harry is calling for help. Oree was being obliged to answer his plea."

"Harry called for help? Why?" Dumbledore shot forward in his seat.

"That Muggle is hurting him," snapped Fenodery, glaring accusingly at the Headmaster.

"I am very sorry," and he truly was, "had I known, I would have taken him away from there."

"Well it is a good thing that the House Elves could know, and do it ourselves then." Fenodery smiled grimly. "Shall I be telling Oree to bring the child to you? Will you be wanting to place young Harry with a family of wizards?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "Even if I wished to do that, I believe it would not be possible to take Harry away from Oree. In her rescue of the last surviving member of her family – a child, moreover – I think Oree has invoked the ancient treaty."

Fenodery's head snapped up in shock. Then he grinned triumphantly.

xxx

"Not quite, Harry, like this." Oree took the pestle from Harry's hand and demonstrated again how to crush up the leaves. The dry, green herbs crumbled into a powder under Oree's expert hand. She handed both mortar and pestle back to Harry, who gave it another go.

"Better, Harry, well done." Oree gave Harry a small pat on the back, before glancing up around the room. They were sitting by a table in a corner of the Herbery and Oree was teaching Harry the basics of cooking. It was after breakfast, but too early for lunch, so there were very few Elves in the Herbery, nor in the Kitchen visible beyond the archway at the end of the high-vaulted room. Most would be in the Scullery, cleaning up after breakfast – even without students at Hogwarts quite yet, there was still a significant amount of washing to do. Only Hairie, the Elf in charge of herbs and spices, remained in the Herbery, meticulously checking his stock. He was a rough-looking, snooped and short-sighted old Elf, with a rare long beard. Tiny round glasses were perched precariously at the end of his very long, pointy nose. His white tea-towel-toga had a dark green ribbon sewn in under the Hogwarts crest, by the shoulder, as befitted the Elf Herbal of Hogwarts. Hairie was stood at the foot of a towering stack of shelves which reached halfway up to the vaulted ceiling, peering closely at jar after jar of mysterious substances. Occasionally he'd tut, or grunt, or make some other very slight noise of disapproval, and would make a small note on a piece of parchment in his hand, before setting the offending jar gingerly aside. The vast majority of jars, however, were returned unchanged to the shelf from whence they came. When Hairie's inventory check got to the shelves too high for his little body to reach, he began to levitate the jars down from their resting places, before sending them back up with a click from his fingers.

"He is doing that every day," whispered Oree to Harry. "He likes to keep very up to date with his herbs."

"_Every _day!" replied Harry in hushed amazement. "_All_ of them?" He gestured at the massive set of shelves by which Hairie currently stood.

"Oh yes," answered Oree. "And them, and them, and them, and them." She pointed around the room as she spoke, each time indicating another tower of herbs and spices. "And he is also having to deal with the other ones." She pointed the heaped bunches of plants of all colours filling the barrels around the room.

"It must take him _ages_," whispered Harry, wide eyed.

"Oh yes," she said again. "It's why he's so blind." She picked up the mortar from the table and brought it as close to her face as she could, squashing her nose and glaring at it cross-eyed. Harry giggled loudly, before clapping a guilty hand over his mouth when Hairie cleared his throat from the other side of the room.

"I may be a little blind," said a deep, gravelly voice, "but I'm not deaf." Hairie crossed his arms over his small chest, narrowing his eyes at them. Oree just smiled at him innocently, and Harry tried desperately not to laugh. Hairie raised a bushy white eyebrow, before turning back to his multitudinous jars.

"Come on Harry, let's go now," said Oree. "I need to teach you how to make beds." She hopped off the bench, picking up the full mortar. After she'd placed the powder in an empty jar, she skipped from the room, Harry following her, snorting at the grin she sent in Hairie's direction. Hairie paused only to glare long-sufferingly over his glasses, before returning to his beloved herbs.

xxx

"So you is thinking that the magic in the treaty is not allowing the wizards to take Harry away from Oree?" asked Fenodery, knocking his heels against the armchair. He'd finally accepted Dumbledore's offer of a seat.

"That's the theory," answered the venerable wizard. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and steepled his fingers under his chin. "What do you think will happen? Can you tell me a bit more about the nature of the treaty?"

Fenodery leaned back in the comfy chair, and breathed out a long breath. He kneaded the soft material of the chair's arm as he pursed his lips pensively.

"The treaty was being formed organically out of the mutual benefit that the relationship between Elves and wizards was having. We was able to draw our magics from the Earth through the bond that we made with a wizard family, and they was getting a very loyal housekeeper." Fenodery let out another long breath. "The treaty was growing out of this. 'Tis the unwritten, yet absolutely magically binding agreement between the Elf and the wizard. The Elf is working diligently for the wizard, in exchange for the greater access to the magics and the good treatment by the wizard. In the past, it was being the case that a badly treated Elf would punish the nasty wizard and leave." Fenodery waggled his finger. "But of course, a naughty Elf could be made to leave also. But humans is growing greedy. They is not wishing to have to look after their Elves. They is not wishing to lose their servants. So they is turning their own magics upon the Elves, to bind us to their service, without our own consent. They is violating the treaty!" Fenodery began to shake with anger. "But the treaty is still existing. No one enchantment by wizards is able to overturn completely the combined magics of generations of wizards and Elves!" Fenodery shook his head sadly, bat-like ears flapping. "But House Elves is not just servants. We is powerful guardians, and wizards is seeming to forget this. A part of the treaty was that the Elf would be able to defend their family, and the treaty would be on their side. If the treaty is still powerful enough, Oree is hopefully being able to assert her magically binding right to protect Harry. He is the last of her family, and he is a child, and she was being unable to save Lilly and James…" Fenodery trailed off, looking unsure.

"How will the treaty 'be on her side', Fenodery?" Dumbledore's eyes were wide and urgent. "How will it – no, how _can_ it help her?"

The old House Elf looked up at him, suddenly looking very world weary.

"Fenodery doesn't know."

xxx

Harry collapsed under the weight of the bedspread, giggling madly.

"No, no, Harry. Don't try to lift it all alone!" Oree pulled the heavy blue material off of the little boy, who immediately jumped up.

"Let Oree do the heavier ones for now, Harry," she said, clicking her fingers and causing the bedspread to float upwards and across, elegantly draping itself over the neighbouring bed and neatly tucking itself in under the pillows.

"Ooh! Let me try!" Harry dashed around to the next bed, and twitched his fingers – he was yet unable to click – at the linen lying by its foot. Needless to say, nothing happened to the sheets whatsoever. Harry stuck his bottom lip out and frowned.

Oree stifled a laugh.

"Do not be worrying, Harry. The magics will be coming in time."

"I'm sure it moved a little bit!" Harry's eyes were wide with sincerity.

Oree smiled indulgently and gave him a small pat on the back.

Harry stuck out his bottom lip again as Oree moved off around the room, levitating clean linen onto the beds as she went. It was but days until the students arrived, and they needed to get all the dormitories ready.

Oree was tucking a stray sheet edge under the mattress of the final bed when a curious "ooh!" brought her attention back to the little boy. She glanced up across the room to see Harry reaching for something sticking out from underneath a mattress. Identifying it frantically as the corner of a magazine, Oree clicked her fingers. How could she have missed that! The magazine whipped out from under the mattress and soared across the room, narrowly missing Harry's outstretched fingers. She gave it a furtive glance as she caught it and let out a sigh of relief. Instead of the expected decidedly inappropriate and often absolutely disgusting images (and Oree had seen a few of those magazines in her time cleaning the dormitories of adolescent males) she was highly thankful to see that the magazine was in fact graced with pictures of broomsticks and Quidditch teams. After giving it a glance through to make sure it was all safe, she held it back out towards Harry.

"Oree is sorry, Harry," she said. "But you must be careful in the future. You must always be telling Oree if you see anything like that, and don't be touching it until I've checked it!"

"Why's that, Oree?"

Oree shifted nervously from one foot to the other.

"Err… I… Just don't, Harry. It could be dangerous."

Harry pouted again, and began to cross the room, holding his hand out for the magazine. But then a strange look crossed his face and he stopped. He brought both of his hands up in front of himself, palms inwards, and squinted intently at the magazine. With deliberately slowness, and what looked like intense concentration, Harry brought his hands together.

They made a tiny clapping sound as they touched, and in the same split second, the magazine in Oree's hand undeniably twitched. She was so shocked that she dropped it.

"Harry! Well done! This is being very impressive!"

But Harry shook his head, bringing his hands in front of himself again. He clapped harder this time, with more force, and the magazine rose up from the floor. Harry's tongue stuck out in concentration, and the magazine began to make its wobbly way through the air towards him.

Oree stared wide eyed as the little boy levitated the magazine towards himself, all the way to grabbing it triumphantly from the air.

"Oh Harry!" cried Oree as she bounded across the room and gathered the little boy into a tight hug. "We must begin teaching you more magics now that you can learn them!" Harry grinned and hugged her back.

Because Harry had been exposed to House Elf magic at such a young age, and had afforded them great respect and admiration, his magic had unconsciously imitated them. Harry Potter was perhaps the first person in centuries who had ever performed House Elf magic.

xxx

"So what it is that you is proposing we do, Headmaster?"

"I'm not sure, Fenodery." Dumbledore tugged on his beard – a habit he really must get out of. "I think all we can do now is be ready in case the Ministry come a-calling. May I meet young Mr…?"

He trailed off as a loud grinding noise alerted them to the moving of the stone staircase beyond the heavy oak door to his office.

"They is being very quick," muttered Fenodery mutinously.

Dumbledore strode to the door.

"Best make yourself Unseen, Fenodery." A loud knock sounded.

The old House Elf nodded, before vanishing. The chair he'd been sitting in disappeared shortly afterwards. Dumbledore swung the door open, admitting a very flustered Minerva McGonagall.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Professor Dumbledore." She tucked an errant lock of hair back into place. "She said it absolutely could not wait." With that, the Transfiguration Professor stepped aside, revealing the tall, haughty form of Narcissa Malfoy, who had not a single strand of hair out of place.

"My apologies, Headmaster." Her cultured voice was not hostile, but seemed somehow guarded. "I'm afraid I come on urgent business."

"Good morning, Madame Malfoy," said Dumbledore, trying not to let his relief, and curiosity, show on his face. He spelled a chair into existence for her, settling back into the armchair he'd conjured earlier. She lowered herself elegantly, perching on the edge of the plush chair.

"Some tea, maybe?"

Narcissa shook her head and declined politely.

"As I said, Headmaster, my business is urgent. Firstly, I wish to thank you for enabling my husband…" she said the word through gritted teeth. Dumbledore noticed she no longer wore a wedding ring. "…my husband to be taken by the Dementors. You have done us, and indeed the country, a great service."

Dumbledore inclined his head, but said nothing.

"Secondly, and most importantly, I have information for you. Lucius' actions have never been entirely palatable, but there are certain activities of his that you may be interested to learn. He had a certain proclivity for the more… untrodden, shall we say, paths of Dark Magic."

Dumbledore leaned forward in his chair, expression deliberately neutral.

"Of course, I will have to ask for something in return. Now that my husband is with the Dementors, myself and my son are likely to be receiving some rather unwanted attention from Lucius' associates. I cannot trust the Ministry to be able to protect us. I must instead turn to you and your school."

"Madame Malfoy, any past student in need of sanctuary is welcome at Hogwarts unreservedly."

xxx

When Harry and Oree returned to the Kitchen that afternoon in time for dinner, Harry was levitating almost everything he saw. Oree had to quell his enthusiasm when he started to cause House Elves to float off the ground.

When she'd extracted a promise not to be too over-exuberant with his new-found skill, Oree bustled off to help with the dinner preparations. Harry spent an enjoyable few minutes practising making his bed via levitation – it wasn't as easy as Oree'd made it look. It actually took some serious concentration in order to get all the different sheets and blankets to go exactly where you wanted them. Once he'd got frustrated enough with being unable to get it quite right, he sat on the decidedly wonky bedspread and opened the Quidditch magazine. Of course, he couldn't read any of the articles, but he was fascinated and amazed by the pictures of the flying sport.

He was rudely disturbed, however, when a loud chime echoed from the Kitchen. Harry stuck his head out around his bedroom door.

"What's going on, Witty?" he asked a passing Elf.

"Nothing to be worrying about, Harry," Witty replied. "Just a visitor up in the castle. Someone will go to make sure they're welcomed. This is being the second in the last hour or so. They is being popular today!"

Harry put it from his mind and returned to his magazine.

xxx

However, meanwhile, up in the castle, events were not transpiring so agreeably.

Dumbledore swept from the Grand Staircase into the Entrance Hall, followed by an Unseen Fenodery and Professor McGonagall. Standing in the middle of the Hall, framed in the setting sunlight shining directly through the open doors was a tall, stony faced Auror, dressed all in black, with dark hair slicked tightly back against his skull.

"Professor Dumbledore," he announced without preamble. His voice was clear and loud, and allowed no argument. "The Ministry has received intelligence that Harry Potter was abducted from his home on the 20th August by the House Elf known as Oree. I am here to place Mr Potter under the protection of the Ministry, as a Ward of Court. And due to her crime of the kidnap of a wizard child I also have a warrant for the immediate seizing and execution of the creature Oree."

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><p><strong>AN: Hoped you enjoyed the chapter. Lots of busy at the moment so have unfortunately been unable to update, but oh well. Life goes on (:<strong>

**Please review!**


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